Ready? Get Set, Flash!
by Dubhe Epsilon
Summary: Artemis Fowl is an immature, bratty moron who happens to like committing crimes. The police are tired of chasing him down and decide to make a collage of humiliating photos. What could happen? Based loosely on the first book.
1. Chapter 1

**Based on the book, but with changes. Hope you like it! Please review.**

How does one describe Artemis Fowl? Various psychiatrists have tried and failed. The main problem is his own stupidity. He bombs every test thrown at him. He has aggravated the greatest medical minds and sent them gibbering back to their own hospitals, often to be locked up in the insanity wing.

There is no doubt that Artemis is a child. How else could he have the intelligence of a 3 year old? But why does someone of his stupidity insist on committing crimes? He always embarrasses the police force. After all, how does it look for a policeman to be chasing a little kid, who was "breaking in" to a bank. We in the police department decided to put our foot down. We would stop Arty once and for all. And then we would bill him for police hours spent "stopping" crimes. But first, we needed information.

Perhaps the best way to create a accurate portrait of Artemis is to make a collage out of every embarrassing picture ever taken. We have quite a few. However the chief insisted we need more, enough to cover a huge poster. Our collection covers only half of the poster.

We will put together the story of Artemis' next "crime". I will fill up the poster with humiliating pictures of the victims and the culprits. This will not be easy.

The photography begins in about five minutes, on the dawn of April Fool's Day. Arty had devised a plan to restore his non-existent dignity. Apparently he planned on doing so by standing on a balcony with a ridiculous, oversized hat that covered his eyes. An oversized bed sheet hung lopsided from his shoulders. His attempts at a dramatic expression was failing unless the look he was going for was pathetic kid. Ah, no matter. Click! Photo # 1 down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry it took so long to update. I'd just like to remind everyone that this is a parody. I don't own anything. **

San Francisco Legoland in the summer. Overcrowded by anyone's standard. Needless to say, Artemis would not have put up with this extreme discomfort had something important not been at stake.

Lego Star Wars Death Star.

"I hope this isn't another wild goose chase," Artemis pouted, realizing the a full six minutes had passes without Butler asking him if he wanted ice cream. For goodness' sake! Arty's original ice cream had almost run out entirely! "Especially after Chicago."

It was a scolding. They had gone to Chicago on word of Butler's informant. He had claimed that the Death Star Lego set was at Chicago's Legoland. Butler shuddered to remember the tantrum that had taken place when Arty found out that the Death Star set had gone out of stock.

"No, sir. I'm certain this time. The manager is a good man, " said Butler, rolling his eyes.

"Uhhhh..." moaned Artemis, gesturing to the remains of his ice cream cone. Butler did not get the hint.

Passerbys would be amazed to here the shrimpy man refer to the extremely obnoxious kid as sir. This was after all the first- no second millennia. Wait ! Is it? I have no clue. I'm just looking out for a great photo moment. Sure, Arty looked ridiculous with chocolate ice cream smeared across his face. His pouty expression didn't help either. However, this was his usual appearance and we already have tons of him like this. I needed something new.

They were sitting in a pizza place watching little kids run around screaming.

The manager was late and the noise was doing little to improve Artemis' mood. He was impatient and seemed set on informing the entire world. But this was just his usual immaturity. Beneath it was a spark of hope. Could they find the set advertised for weeks on Artemis' favorite show, Sesame Street? It was almost to much to hope for.

A man in a manager's uniform walked over to the table.

"Hello. You must be Master Fowl and-"

Artemis groaned. "Skip to the fun part. I want a cheese pizza, a coke, and four ice cream cones."

The manager turned to hButler. "Sir, I am the manager."

Artemis stomped his foot for attention.

"You are wearing a uniform-"

"Yes, because I work here," snapped the manager, "Sherlock Holmes," he added, disgustedly.

The manager sat down and sighed.

"Let me fill you in on our weapon status," said Artemis, oblivious to the manager's foul mood, "We have three Nerf guns, two cheese knives, a piece of yarn... Anything else?"

Butler rolled his eyes. The manager nodded in sympathy.

"Do not be alarmed, waiter-" Artemis began.

"Manager, actually," said the manager through gritted teeth.

"Butler could kill you in a hundred different ways without a weapon-"

"Errr...sir, I think I might only have about...well...less than that."

The manager was by now roaring with laughter. A 10 year old who acted like a three year old. The manager had heard the name Fowl before but he'd assumed he'd be dealing with the far more reasonable Artemis Fowl, Sr. The word "boy" did not cover this rather large individual. And that runty guy, Butler. The manager could see that he should be getting on with this.

"And now to business," said the manager, placing a catalog in front of Artemis, "We have the Lego set."

"How do I know that you aren't walking me into an ambush?" said Artemis, pulling out a Nerf gun.

Butler was totally occupied by shooing away a mosquito.

"Nope, we're not," said the manager, "Here's a picture." He pointed to the catalog.

"Okay. Lead the way," said Artemis.

"Excuse me, but I believe that I was just supposed to meet with you and confirm the deal," said the manager impatiently.

"I'm sorry, but the time when you had a choice in the matter is long past," said Artemis, whipping out his Nerf gun. Butler looked pleadingly at the manager. I could see that a tantrum was coming on. I really hope that I'll get some good pictures for all this trouble.

The manager sighed and led a cheering Artemis and a relieved Butler through the crowd. They moved forward slowly at an excruciating rate, as I trailed behind. Artemis' good mood evaporated. I could see a tantrum coming on.

Artemis said,"Run if you like, but expect a fatal shot from a Nerf gun." Butler looked at the manager pleadingly. They went on through a door marked employees only. Boxes loomed up around them.

"Well? Where is it?" said Artemis. The manager sighed and pointed to a door. "Goggles!" screeched Artemis.

Artemis opened the door and found a lady chewing gum and stacking boxes. He turned around in a full circle and let out a wail. There was no set in sight. Butler waited for the usual response from the manager. There was none. Artemis howled and began randomly shooting Nerf darts which ricocheted off the walls and stuck to his clothing. He howled loudly. Click! There he was, face covered in ice cream, darts stuck to his clothes, howling like a wounded animal. Yes!

"Where did it go?" screamed Artemis.

"Fairies took it," said the manager sarcastically.

Artemis turned to the women, "Madam, I have a deal."

"Yes, honey?" said the woman, snapping her gum.

"I want every single fairy lego set here," he announced.

"Sure!" said the manager, "Now can I leave?" Butler nodded and mouthed a quick "thank you". The manager dashed down the hall as fast as he could.

Artemis turned back to the women who had disappeared behind an aisle. She came out with a teetering heap of boxes.

"I've got some books here for you, sweet," called the woman.

"Books! Noooooo!" screeched Artemis.

"Artemis, please. Here's some ice cream," said Butler, "I want you to read more. It's good for you." Artemis swallowed the ice cream in three gulps.

"Noooo! Back down. You know the power that's in my blaster." He held up a Nerf gun.

"Artemis, it's not a blaster and it isn't even loaded. Now, you need to know your options. You don't take the books and we go home."

"Yes!"

"Are you sure? You won't get the Death Star Lego set. Also, I've poisoned your ice cream cone with...Sith poison... You won't get the cure anytime soon..." Butler hoped Artemis bought it.

"Ahhhhhhhh! You've murdered me!" The woman managed to snap her gum and look shocked at the same time.

"Wait. If you swear in your, uh, Jedi honor that you'll read the books, I'll give you the antidote." Artemis quickly swore to it and Butler gave him a breath mint. Butler wrote down their address and asked the women to mail it to them.

* * *

The Butlers had been serving the Fowls for centuries. It had always been so. In fact, the first record of this arrangement was when Virgil Butler had babysat Lord Hugo de Folé's son while the father went on a crusade.

Butler children were sent to a special school that taught them how to control obnoxious brats. They were taught Discipline, Bribery, and martial arts (Butler had aced the two former and failed the latter). If they were not needed by the Fowl's, they were snapped up by royalty everywhere.

The pair sat in an airplane, Butler tuning out Artemis and reading a book called How to Tame an Unruly Child Without Them Knowing. Butler spent a good deal of money on books such as these, this one had helped him dream up the Sith poison. Poor Butler.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm really sorry I haven't posted recently. I've been super busy with school. I'll be able to post more when school lets out.**

**I don't own Artemis Fowl or Star Wars, or anything else you recognize from elsewhere.**

By now you might have guessed just how far Artemis Fowl was prepared in order to achieve his goal. But what would he do next? What could he do with twenty fairy related Lego sets? What was his goal? The answer was his dignity. You see, Artemis could have asked his mother for the Lego set. He could have ordered Lego Death Star online. But no. That was what a little kid would do and Arty was a big boy. Or at least he thought he was.

This all had began when Arty first began playing with Legos, two years earlier. He quickly found the more expensive sets: the giant structures that took his personal Lego expert hours to put together. Most of all, the Star Wars sets.

Trawling through page after page of Lego catalogs, he found images of the Death Star from all angles. Most stores had it in stock-or so they said.

But he hadn't found it, and now he knew why! That manager had revealed the secret. Of course, Artemis knew it would have been hard for the manager not to spill the beans under Arty's super-duper interrogation skills. Arty really couldn't blame him. Anyway, the manager had revealed the culprits...fairies!

Artemis believed that with today's technology, such as light-up lightsabers, Nerf guns, and two-way radio, one could catch the fairies. And, since they had his Lego set, they probably had many more, which he could steal! Yay, he thought.

_Know thine enemy_ was Artemis' motto, though he wasn't positive on what it meant. Some cool person somewhere had said it, that was enough. He plastered it on everything. It was painted (misspelled) on a large banner in his bedroom. The layout of buildings in Fowl Manor (which his parents bought for his knight phase) spelled it as well (correctly, as the architect had apparently passed 4th grade). Butler had tried to explain the meaning, but Artemis concluded that it meant whack the enemy with every toy you can think of; he had compiled a large database on the subject. Still, even that hadn't amused him for long. So Arty put a call out on the web: _Irish Jedi Knight/Nerf Gun Sharpshooter will pay large amount of monopoly money to get Lego Death Star._

For some reason, no one had responded. So, Butler had taken him to San Francisco Legoland, which had finally paid off.

* * *

Arty would have gone straight to the Lego sets, but his mother called, "Arty! Clean your room."

"Make Butler do it," whined Arty.

"I'm your bodyguard, not the maid."

"Butler, we prefer the term Caregiver," soothed his mother, "but you bring up a good point. You are not the maid. She can do it."

"Yay!" said Artemis.

"But I want to talk to you, darling," his mother continued.

"Nooooooooooooooooo," said Artemis. After a long, heart-to-heart chat about why avoiding peers through LEGOs was bad, he finally got away. He sprinted up to his bedroom and gasped. Artemis' mother heard angry voices and sighed. She trudged up the stairs.

"Is there a problem, Juliet?" Mrs. Fowl addressed the maid.

"My own fault. I swept up some Legos and apparently I mixed a few sets up," Juliet responded. Mrs. Fowl rushed into the room, where Arty was having a tantrum.

Mrs. Fowl worried about her son. The doctor had told her that this was just a phase all kids went through, but she was beginning to feel that it might be more than that. She could see her dear son becoming more and more spoiled before her eyes. Honestly, a tantrum at having your room cleaned?

This all concerned her, but she couldn't understand how it had happened. Who had corrupted her little boy? It couldn't have possibly been her and her husband, no, all they had done was provide their son with everything he needed: a castle, an nerf-gun range, four McDonald's franchises, ten Lego experts... No, it couldn't have been them.

Meanwhile, Arty was throwing his Lego sets at Juliet. The cardboard boxes split open and hurled tiny, surprisingly sharp objects up at her face.

"Arty! Stop it and I'll give you a Popsicle!" Juliet screamed as she covered her face with her arms.

"Leave me alone, Sith Lord!" Arty shrieked, throwing the last of the of his Lego sets at her. Juliet changed her strategy.

"You're right, I am a Sith Lord, and if you don't stop attacking me I'll, umm," Juliet desperately searched her memory for something Sith Lords did, "Umm, I'll poison you with my, uhh, evil Sith poison."

"Nooooo, not your evil Sith poison!" Arty dashed into the closet for his lightsaber. Uh-oh. An innocent bystander like me could get speared. I better get my picture fast.

"You were behind the attempt to poison me at Legoland, weren't you? You used your evil Sith mind tricks to force Butler to poison me! But it didn't work, because he gave me the cure. Because good always triumphs over evil, Darth Meanie!" Juliet and I were laughing our heads off. The kid seriously thought that good triumphed over evil? Ah, too bad I needed pictures. There are awesome quotes to collect here and I can't even record them.

Wait, yes, I can! I don't always have to follow orders. Chief has no control over _me_. Wow, I am so brave! I can't wait to tell all my friends about my daring act of defiance.

Back to the photos. Chief will kill me if I don't get one today.

By this time, Juliet had gone. She'd snuck away while Arty struck ridiculous poses with his lightsaber. Mrs. Fowl entered the room.

"Well, Arty, I'm pleased that you've calmed down. " Arty had flopped on the floor, exhausted from all the posing.

"I'm not calm! I'm mad at Juliet because she's an evil Sith Lord who tried to poison me!" Arty wailed.

"Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of her. "

"Nooooooo!" Arty wailed again.

"I'm sorry, but didn't you want-", his mother began.

"I must be the one to defeat Darth Meanie! It is my fate!" Arty leapt to his feet and struck a pose, fist in the air, mouth wide open as though he were screaming. _Click!_ This one is great!

"Okay, I can understand that. Actually, you have to! Juliet will die if you don't. You see, Arty, Darth Meanie was impersonating Juliet..." Mrs. Fowl said.

"Yes, of course, that makes sense! Darth Meanie probably used Sith poison and mind tricks to do it!" Arty yelled triumphantly. I rolled my eyes. This is ridiculous. Were Sith mind tricks and poisons even in the movies?

"The plot thickens!" Arty said, using another catchphrase that he did not understand the meaning of, "It must have been Darth Meanie who used Sith mind tricks on Butler so he would poison me. Oh, and it was Darth Meanie who worked with the fairies to steal my Lego Death Star. "

"Wait, what?" Mrs. Fowl said, totally bewildered by her son's train of thought.

"No, Darth Meanie _is_ a fairy!" Arty continued, oblivious to his mother.

"Whatever you say, Arty," sighed his mother.

"Don't call me Arty. I am a feared and respected Nerf gun sharpshooter and Jedi Knight."

"Arty?"

"Noooooooooooooooo! I am Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen!" One of Arty's Lego experts snorted loudly.

"Okay, Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen, " sighed his mother.

"I, Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen, will track down Darth Meanie and the fairies that help them, defeat them, and save Juliet!" Arty declared, striking the same stupid pose as earlier. I would have taken another picture, but Chief might get annoyed at me for that. I really don't want to get him on my case. That guy _really_ scares me.

I crept out of Arty's bedroom, as his mother calmed him down.

* * *

The fairy books were proving far more stubborn than Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen had anticipated. They seemed to be actively resisting him. No matter which way he tilted the books, they made no sense. What was the correct angle, anyway?

The words were like nothing he had seen before, yet they were familiar. What he needed was some frame of reference, some idea of which way to tilt the book. He separated each character and looked at it from every angle he could think of, he had learned the alphabet, so he should recognize some parts, right? He ran comparisons with labels on his Lego packages and began finding counterparts!

By noon, he had managed to find a Lego label counterpart for every letter in the first sentence of the fairy book. Unfortunately, he hadn't the slightest clue what any of the words meant. To him, it was all meaningless gibberish. He began banging his head against the keyboard and screaming for cookies. Butler, alarmed, rushed in with a stack of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies he kept on hand at all times. While Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen was distracted by the cookies, Butler hurriedly typed in some poetry, hoping this would put an end to Arty's self-destructive habits.

My initial thought was that this was too pathetic, even for Arty. I feel sorry for the kid's poor family. Then, another thought struck me: I must take advantage of this situation! I quickly snapped another picture of Butler setting up a "discovery" for Arty.

"Oh my goodness! Look what you've done! You're a genius, Arty!" Butler cried dramatically. It wasn't an especially good imitation of surprise and wonder on Butler's part, but who can blame him?

Well, _I_ can blame him. _I_ could have done a way better job of _that_.

"I'm not Arty," said Arty, crossly, "I'm Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen."

"Oh, yeah," Butler said, embarrassed at his slip-up, "Sorry Ar-I mean, Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen."

" 'Sorry' doesn't make it better," snapped Arty.

"My mistake. My deepest apologies, Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen " Butler said hurriedly. I was beginning to get impatient. There has to be a good photo moment coming up soon.

"But now let's focus our attention on your great discovery," Butler continued, "Captain Super-Awesome, you have cracked the code."

"What do you mean? It still makes no sense," Arty said, perplexed.

"All you have to do is press the read-aloud button, which will translate the fairy code to English. Captain Super-Awesome, you have saved my sister, Juliet, from Darth Meanie and the fairies," Butler explained. The photo moment I've been waiting for is almost here! Wait for it...Wait for it...

Arty pressed the read-aloud button. Comprehensible English came out of the computer's speaker. Arty cheered loudly and jumped up in the air at his discovery. His chocolate-covered mouth was stretched wide in a scream. Combined with the earlier photo, this one is pathetic! And awesome! And Chief won't yell at me! Oh, bliss!

Once Arty had calmed down, Butler replayed the poetry. The poem really stunk. I would use stronger language, but Chief thinks that makes us sound unprofessional. I don't want to get on _his_ bad side, that's for sure.

Arty gazed at a distant field, transfixed, as the words washed over him.

_If you're not a fairy, please don't look_

_'Cause _this_ is the fairy book_

_Fairies, bring me to work, bring me to school,_

_I'll teach you stuff that is really cool._

_I'm your source of power_

_Without me, you'd be a wallflower_

At this, Arty squealed with excitement, breaking his pose. He finally had the power to make fairies into wallflowers! All he had to do was take away their books!

_There will be commandments one hundred,_

Butler winced at this line. Hey, he was in a hurry when he wrote this. I don't blame him for the stupid lines. Still, I could have done better. _Way_ better.

_Break them and you'll get struck by thunder._

Arty's face paled at the thought of getting struck by thunder. He then remembered that this was about fairies, not him. He sighed in relief. Butler grimaced again.

_The hundred commandments will answer_

_All your magic questions-and fancier_

Arty's face shone with anticipation at getting his magic questions answered in an especially fancy way. He then remembered that this was about fairies, not him.

_But remember this_

_I'm not for those who kiss_

Arty made a fervent vow never to kiss his mother again. Yay, he thought, I'll never have to kiss my mother again. I can spend all my time playing Legos.

He then remembered that this was about fairies, not him. Jeez, the dark side had perks.

"See, you've got it. All you need now is for me to piece together the rest of the books, and you can save Juliet," said Butler.

"Sure-wait, shouldn't _I_ piece together the books?" said Arty.

"Oh, no. You see, you have found the key to translating the fairy books. You're a genuis, Ar- Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen! Now that you have found the key, it will only take me a few hours to translate. You can use this time to eat cookies and play with Legos," explained Butler.

"Okay!" Arty agreed, "But do it quickly. With the translated book they will be ants at my feet, their every secret revealed with high-tech stuff. And my genius, of course."

* * *

Three hours, two platters of cookies, and a nap later, Arty was sitting in his plotting chair, cackling and rubbing his hands together. Now that Butler had translated the books into bad poetry, Arty could begin planning for real. From the Butler's poetry, two lines had stuck out at him:

_Remember, readers, Star Wars Death Star sets must be taken_

_From human children who love bacon_

Arty loved bacon almost as much as ice cream. He had realized then that the fairies must have been out to get him, and him specifically. They had taken his LEGO set, so to get it back, he had to take something of equal value, one of their own. (Arty valued no life but his own over LEGOs.) He would also demand some extra LEGO sets, though he wasn't sure what they would be. Oh, yeah, and he had to get Juliet back, so she could clean his room.

After a second nap, and seventeen ice cream cones, Arty climbed up to his tree house. It was a stylish and tastefully decorated room, but Arty really didn't care much about that. He smashed the hand-blown glass vases on a regular basis, whenever he had a temper tantrum.

Instead, Arty had jammed it with LEGO sets, DSes, and Star Wars memorabilia. Butler had climbed up ahead of him, and was firing up the DSes. Arty took a deep breath.

"Shut them all down," Arty said, his voice quavering. He was about to go 15 minutes without his video games. He'd never spent fifteen waking minutes without them. Never. He sniffled. The sniffles turned to sobs. Within minutes, it was a full-blown tantrum. Arty hurled the nearest vase at Butler, who squawked and cowered in the corner.

"Captain Super-Awesome, do you want to take a break to play your video game?" Butler said, quivering in fright.

"NO! Can't you see I'm working?" Arty bellowed, throwing another glass vase. The vase hit the wall near me and shattered. Uh-oh. I began looking for an escape route.

"Sorry, Arty," Butler said from his corner. He too was looking for an escape route.

"I'm NOT Arty," yelled Arty, "I'm Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen!" I could see where this was going. I dove out the window. Predictably, I hit every branch on the way down.

* * *

I crawled back to my squad car, which was parked inconspicuously on the front driveway. I climbed in, rubbing my sore behind. It was an uneventful drive back. I saw twelve people speeding, but I didn't much feel like pulling anybody over.

When I got back to the station, Chief was waiting for me out front.

"Did you get any good photos today?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, sir." Boy, I was glad I had gotten three pictures. Chief seemed to be in a bad mood.

"Here's the camera. It's the three most recent ones," I said, handing the camera to Chief. There was a long pause as he looked them over.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Chief?" I said, anxiously

"What's this supposed to be?" He was pointing to the picture of Butler "translating".

"Well, sir..."

"Captain, your instructions were clear, correct?"

"Well yes, but.." I stammered.

"This is a photo of Fowl's bodyguard, correct?"

"Well, caretaker actually." Chief pretended not to hear.

"Every moment you are out there, it costs us taxpayer dollars. We want a collage of humiliating photos on Artemis Fowl."

"He prefers to be called 'Captain Super-Awesome, feared Jedi Knight, expert at all things Lego, and the best Nerf gun fighter the world has ever seen', actually," I blurted out. Dang, now I'm in worse trouble. Thankfully, Chief pretended not to hear.

"When you go around taking normal pictures that will not humiliate Fowl, you are wasting taxpayer dollars," Chief said sternly.

"The pictures are humiliating-in context," I argued. He sighed deeply.

"Captain, I don't know what to do with you. You're apathetic on traffic control-to my knowledge, you've never pulled a single person over. All you do is _speed_ around."

"I've pulled people over before," I defended myself.

"Yes, so you can tell them knock-knock jokes," Chief sighed again. Oh, sorry, Chief, for _brightening people's days_.

"I'm sorry, Chief. Can I have another chance?" He thought for a while. Finally, he responded.

"Fine, Captain. You had better get a ton of good photos this time around."

"Thank you, Chief," I was overjoyed, but I kept it all in like any good captain. I mean, when I gave him my famous "thank you, Chief" hug, I let go after 5 minutes.

"What am I going to do with you?" said Chief, shaking his head and smiling.

**Hope you enjoyed. Please review. I'm going to try to get another chapter posted in the next two weeks, and, of course, I'll post much more frequently in the summer. Thank you for your patience.  
**


	4. Chapter 4, Part One

**I really sorry that this is late. I miscalculated how long it would take me to write. Most of the pickup lines are not mine. I did make up and alter a few. The responses are all mine (of course). I've changed the rating to T to give myself a little more wiggle room for minor profanity.  
**

**Up till now, each chapter of this fic has been based on one chapter of the first Artemis Fowl book. The 3rd chapter of AF is about 30 pages long, and has a lot of stuff happening, so I did it in two chapters. This is based on the first half. **

**I don't own Artemis Fowl.**

Holly Short was lying in bed, silently fuming. She immediately caught herself and stopped, because she vaguely remembered reading that frowning gave you wrinkles. Nothing was unusual about this. Fairies in general were known for their vanity. But Holly was exceptionally ditsy, even for a fairy.

Perhaps a description would be more helpful that a vague character study. Or maybe not. Maybe. Or not. Well, maybe…fine-eenie meenie minie moe…well, I'll just go ahead with the… well, maybe Chief wouldn't want me to. He was annoyed with me last night…I don't want to go against Chief. Hmmm…

Aha! I just remembered. I'm brave and defiant and Chief can't tell me what to do. Description coming right up!

Holly had nut-brown skin, long auburn hair that she wore up in a Snooki-esque heap, and hazel eyes. She had five-inch long nails, painted pink. Her nose was freakishly perfect, the work of several notable fairy plastic surgeons. Her mouth was plump and cherubic-maybe a little too plump and cherubic...some people don't have the bone structure for this sort of thing...let me get a better look...Oh, I don't care!

Her mother, an elf from New Jersey, had the same figure...I guess it runs in the family...Hmmm...I wonder why they included notes on Holly's mother in my briefing...I should talk to Chief about it. But I don't want to seem like I'm questioning his judgement...

Hey, speaking of Chief, he would be really annoyed if he knew I was wasting time like this...Wait, what? Oh, no!

Back on task! Right!

Anyway, Holly was still fuming despite her attempts for a wrinkle-free old age. Commander Beetroot of the DUMB (this was the acronym for the fairy police. It stood for Daring Underground Mumbling Barnacles. The name was from a day and age before fairies were fully evolved) was the cause of her distress. Beetroot had been on her case since day one. He had taken offense at Holly's affectionate nicknames, hairstyles, and 5-inch nails. Recon was was a notoriously dangerous posting with a high fatality rate, a rate that Holly didn't help by refusing to wear a helmet or carry a gun. Hey, the helmet always messed up her laboriously arranged hair, and she might break a nail if forced to shoot. Well, Beetroot will just have to get used to me and my charming quirks, Holly thought, pouting.

Though she would never admit it, another possible cause for Holly's irritability was the Ritual. She'd been been meaning to do it for a few fashion seasons, but what with shopping, hair saloon appointments, spa excursions, manicures, pedicures, mani-pedis, and tannings, she never had time replenishing her magic. Besides, all her Ritual outfits were soooo last century. She couldn't be seen in them. Still, if Beetroot found out she was low on magic, he would have the perfect excuse to transfer her to traffic, and the uniforms there were horrible. Bright orange did _not_ go with her natural coloring, or any of her outfits. Oh, the horror! She might have to start dying her hair and skin, and buying color contacts. And the expenses would come out of her shrinking clothes budget!

At this, Holly began weeping uncontrollably. She rolled off her bed and crawled to the shower, still wallowing in despair. I squeezed my eyes shut at this. I should probably give her some privacy.

Five minutes later, I opened one eye cautiously. Aaaauuuuggghhh!

I shut my eyes. Five minutes later, I opened the other eye. Aaaauuuuggghhh!

I shut my eyes. I resolved to remain this way until the water stopped flowing, having thoroughly learned my lesson. My resolve broke as soon as Holly started singing. I screamed and ran for it.

"I wonder who that was," said Holly. She shrugged, assuming it was a fan of hers who wanted to look through her closet to marvel at Holly's fashion sense. This didn't much bother her. She resumed singing.

_La, la, la, la, la, laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_

The last note was high and painful. I hid in Holly's expansive closet, a fluffy gauze scarf around my ears. _Please, deity, if you exist, stop this, _I prayed. No luck. I probably should have omitted the "if you exist" clause, in retrospect. I was forced to continue listening.

_I'm a poor underpaid songwriter_

_So I don't care if this song is redundant and stupid and uncatchy  
_

_Nor do I care about making up words_

_My boss and her fans suck_

_I can put this in a song and not get fired cause no one will write better songs that this on minimum wage_

_And no health insurance_

_Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, h__aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_

This song was horrible. How could anyone like it? I was in fetal position by now. _Please, deity, you most certainly exist, so stop this, _I prayed. Still no luck. Hey, if you can't beat them, join them, right? I began to sing with Holly. She didn't seem to notice.

_Hey, did you know that all my pop songs have the same basic chord progression in next to identical patterns?_

_So all of my songs have the same tune._

_Yet you still eat it up, stupid fans of my employer_

_I sob for fairykind_

_Or laugh_

___Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, h__aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_

After a few more verses, I was ready to call it quits, but Holly had other plans. After half an hour of her singing and me beseeching various deities, Holly finished her shower, hair and makeup, and was ready to get dressed. How did I know this? I used my famed deductive skills.

"I'm going to go get dressed," Holly announced to no one in particular. See? From that simple quote I have determined so much. If Chief weren't a biased meanie, I would have been promoted decades ago.

Unfortunately, I was in the closet, and Holly was coming any second now. I dove behind a rack of shoes. It was a bad hiding spot, but Holly was too focused on preening in the mirror to notice me.

She began to hum, and my hands shot up to protect my poor ears. My ears were safe, but I knocked down the shoe rack. Holly whirled around, but then shrugged and returned to her reflection. Holly zipped up her besparkled jumpsuit, and then thanked the fashion gods that her petition to end the old "top-o'-the-morning" costume the force used to have to wear had gotten through. Buckled shoes and knickerbockers! Holly felt like weeping at the thought, but restrained herself, as she did not want her laboriously applied "waterproof" mascara to run. Thank goodness for the new outfit, she reminded herself, even if it does have a bad helmet. She kicked said helmet for good luck, as she always did, and strolled out the door bareheaded.

* * *

The main thoroughfare was chaotic. Sprites zoomed around for no particular reason, and gnomes lumbered around for the sole purpose of blocking two lanes at once. Flirt toads infested each small patch, smiling seductively at passerbys.

"Hello, handsome," one said to me, winking, "Do you work out?" At last someone appreciated my strict workout regimen. I chose to ignore that this compliment came from a species engineered to flirt.

"Yes, I do, little lady...toad," I said, trying and failing to wink.

"Call me Toadette," she said, smiling a dazzling smile.

"Call me, Toadette," I begged, slightly dazed.

"Are you religious? 'Cause you're the answer to all my prayers," Toadette said.

"Actually, after hearing a lot of really bad pop songs, I did have an epiphany...I mean, ha ha," I said.

"Damn, if being sexy was a crime, you'd be guilty as charged!" Toadette said.

"That wouldn't be good. See, I'm a police officer, and I'm already on probation...I mean..."

"If I received a nickel for every time I saw someone as handsome and muscular as you, I'd have five cents," continued Toadette, ignoring my response. I decided not to respond to this.

"I was wondering if you had an extra heart. Mine seems to have been stolen the second I laid eyes on you," said Toadette.

"Awww...you're so sweet. I love you, too, Toadette," I gushed, finally finding my voice.

"Thank you, handsome," Toadette replied.

"Toadette, will you marry me?"

"WHAT? And give up flirting forever?" Toadette shrieked, horrified.

"Well, probably."

"Give up flirting? For a stupid, self-important shrimpy sadist like you?" Toadette gasped. I admired her alliteration, but this turn of events made me not want to marry her at all. And I am not a sadist, no matter how alliterative it is.

"Good-bye, Toadette."

"Good-bye." I trotted off to find Holly, and then whirled around realizing that I had let Toadette have the last word. Aaaauuuuggghhh! It was too late now. Toadette was talking to another person now.

Flirt toads are so unfaithful. How could anyone ever be fooled by them? They would have to be a total idiot.

I found Holly in the crowd of flirt toads near a particularly fat toad.

"So, beautiful Holly," it was saying, "There is something wrong with my cell phone. It doesn't have your number in it."

"There must be something wrong, if it doesn't have my number" agreed Holly. I rolled my eyes. She was totally eating it up.

"Smoking is hazardous to your health... and baby, you're killing me!" it said.

"What else is new?" said Holly, basking in the praise.

"Me without you is like a nerd without braces, A shoe without laces, aSentenceWithoutSpaces."

"What? I don't get it," said Holly, irritated at being woken from her reverie.

"It's just like you...you have to see it to believe," the toad tried to recover.

"I still don't understand."

"You're really hot, and I love you," the toad said.

"Nice save," I whispered.

"Shut up, she might hear you, " the toad hissed.

"Anyway, Holly, if you were a booger I'd pick you first," the toad said confidently.

"What? Eeewww..."

"No, wait! My love for you is like diarrhea, I just can't hold it in."

"Excuse me?"

"Alright, I admit, that was bad. How 'bout this? Rejection can lead to emotional stress for both parties involved and emotional stress can lead to physical complications such as headaches, ulcers, cancerous tumors, and even death! So for my health and yours, JUST SAY YES!"

Holly reared, "Are you threatening me?"

"No! No! Did you fart, cause you blew me away."

"You're disgusting! Leave me alone!" Holly marched away, muttering about how disgusting flirt toads were and how you would have to be an idiot to fall for one. She's such a hypocrite! She fell for a flirt toad! _Some_ people. I shook my head, dismissively.

* * *

We continued on through the city. There was a riot in front of Dud's Mud Emporium. Oh, how those fairies love their mud. It seemed that Dud had raised prices _again_. Well, good luck to him, but it didn't seem that the DUMB police would help him out. Actually, now that I looked, there were a few on-duty police rioting along with the crowd.

The DUMB station was mobbed with protesters. Holly smiled broadly at them, waving and blowing kisses. The protesters were less than amused. They pressed in on her, yelling insults about the DUMB. A few eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm not with her," I said quickly. They didn't look convinced.

"The DUMB are an assortment of annoying and affluent airheads!" I proclaimed, trying to fit in with the crowd. This seemed to convince them. Alliteration always accomplishes an aim. They then turned towards Holly. Yes! Wait, what? I suppose I must help her.

"My meaningful mates..." I began. The crowd turned towards me, furious at being interrupted.

"Are you helping the DUMB officer?"

"I thought you were on our side!"

"Yeah, didn't you call the DUMB annoying airheads?"

"Alliteration sucks!" That was uncalled for!

"Alliteration is awesome, absurd anarchist!" I shouted back. Then, I turned and ran away, crashing straight into a pyromaniac dwarf, who was busy setting a DUMB's hair on fire. The dwarf went flying.

"You caught the arsonist!" said the DUMB, applauding. I stood up and took a bow. All the DUMBs began to cheer.

"You're aiding the DUMB police! You alliterative, informing traitor!" the protesters cried, outraged.

"CHARGE!" shrieked the man who had insulted alliteration.

"RUN!" shrieked the DUMB officer I had helped. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no. I raced off up the stairs, running through a maze of corridors. I stopped after a few minutes to catch my breath. There's no way they'll find me here.

* * *

They found me. It wasn't pretty. I hobbled back downstairs to find Holly. She was in the bathroom redoing her make-up and gossiping about what an awesome chase scene there had been and how my bruises really made it more exciting to watch.

Glad I could entertain you, Holly.

Once Holly was done, she skipped through the hallway humming yet another stupid song. She poked her head in Commander Beetroot's office.

"Good morning, Beetie," she sang (thankfully, she did not literally sing).

"Don't call me that, Captain Short," Beetroot snapped, "And it isn't 'good morning' anymore. It's after 2:00. Your shift started 6 hours ago!"

"It's after two? Oh, no, I have a waxing at 2:30. I gotta go! See you later, Rootsie Tootsie," Holly tried to run out of the office, but a wave of protesters shoved her back in Beetroot's office. Once she was back in the office, Beetroot began again.

"Why were you late?!"

"Well, you see, Rootie Pie, I had to do my makeup and my hair, and choose what to wear..."

"You have a uniform!"

"I had to bedazzle it!"

"When you bedazzle your uniform, you destroy the use of said uniform as...Short, pay attention to me while I'm talking!" Holly had turned around and was redoing her hair.

"I'm sorry, Beetie Poo, but I need to redo my hair if I want to stay looking fabulous..."

"YOU DON'T NEED TO LOOK FABULOUS! AND WHERE'S YOUR HELMET!" Beetroot bellowed. Jeez, I know she's annoying, but that example of caps abuse was uncalled for. Just then, the protesters charged me.

"AHHH! GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FIVE-FINGERED FART-PRONE FREAKS!" I shouted. That seemed to do the trick. Back to Holly:

"Oh, my helmet's at home. It messes up my hairstyle."

"I don't care! Your job is dangerous enough with a helmet! It's my duty to protect all my...Short, pay attention to me when I'm talking to you!"

"But I need to redo my makeup!"

"I don't care!" Beetroot sighed, "It's no use. You're fired, Short!"

"Does that mean I get to go to my waxing appointment?"

"Yes! I don't care what you do! Just get out of here!" Holly smiled broadly and gave Beetroot a big hug. She skipped out the door, humming another obnoxious song. She stopped short, and poked her head back into the office.

"Oh, and I need money. Can I have next month's paycheck in advance?" Beetroot sighed

"You aren't going to work next month, so I'm not paying you!"

"What? I need money for my waxing appointment!"

"Get a job!" Holly frowned. Getting fired wasn't as great as it had seemed before.

"Beety-Tweety," Holly ventured, "Can I have my job back?"

"No!"

"Please! I'll stop giving you nicknames!" Beetroot thought about that for a minute. No more Beetie's, no more Rootsie Tootsie's, no more Beety-Rooty's. This was a tempting offer.

"So you'll call me Commander Beetroot?"

"Of course, Beetsie-I mean, Commander Beetroot,"

"All right, Captain Short, you're hired!"

"Yay! Thank you, Rootsie-I mean, Commander Beetroot!" Holly ran over to give Beetroot a hug.

"No hugs either!" barked the commander.

"All right," pouted Holly. Beetroot was distracted by the ringing of the phone. He picked it up.

"Yes?" Beetroot paused, listening.

"I'm fine, thank you, but why did you call?" Beetroot paused.

"My mother is also doing well, thank you, but spare me the polite nonsense, and tell me what's going on!" Beetroot clenched his teeth in frustration.

"No, I'm not going to ask how your day was! Do you have something to say or not?"

"Oh, stop crying! Every moment you're on the phone, you're wasting DUMB money!" Beetroot snapped, turning purple.

"There's a troll! There's a troll, and all you could do was rant about manners!"

"Good-bye." Beetroot sighed and hung up. He turned to Holly.

"Okay, Captain Short, here's your chance. Go get that troll! You have plenty of magic, right?"

"Sure! On my way, Beetsie-Commander Beetroot!"

"Get suited up, Captain, and..."

"I get to change out of this hideous uniform! Yay!" Holly interrupted, too excited to use any nicknames.

"Actually, no. 'Suited up' means...Just talk to Foaly, Captain."

Holly skipped off, singing. The protesters covered their ears and curled up on the ground. Serves 'em right for insulting alliteration. I scurried along in Holly's wake.

"Captain," Beetroot called after her, "Foaly and the chutes are _that_ way." Holly changed her direction and continued to sing and skip.

* * *

Holly made her way through the crowd, singing all the while. It was almost more than I could bear, but being the brave, muscular, and handsome police officer I am, I was able to persevere. Well, it was that and the thought of what Chief would do to me if I failed.

Foaly was waiting for her in Ops. Foaly was a dedicated gamer who had really only taken the DUMB job to feed himself, and as he resented any moment he spent on the job, he played video games most of the time.

"Oh, Foaly Wooly," Holly sang.

"Gimme a second, I'm about win this. Hey, did anyone see you come in here? Some of my rivals might be spying on me to learn my Mario Kart strategy," Foaly said. This was his customary greeting.

"Oh, I knocked out everyone on my way in," Holly said, cheerfully.

"You're a good friend, Holly." Foaly finished the level and turned to Holly.

"So, there's this troll here, represented by a red dot." said Foaly, pointing to a computer screen, "Wait, no. That's my video game map thing. The troll is _here_ on this map. You've gotta go...do whatever you DUMBs do to trolls. Here's a locator. It looks kinda like a wristwatch, so I made it tell time, too. If you press this button, you get the time in several major cities. Oh, and if you press this button, you can play Fruit Ninja."

"Cool, Foaly-poo."

"I know. It's way better than the original. Here's a microphone thingy so you can talk to us. But keep the talking to a minimum. I have a few more people I need to beat."

"Can you play games on this one too, Foaly-bear?" said Holly, examining the device.

"No, but it has a nuclear battery and it's voice activated!" Holly jerked back away from the device.

"Nuclear battery! You mean it will blow up?" Holly was so frightened that she forgot to add a nickname. Wow, she _was_ frightened.

"No, but that's a cool idea! I have a gun for you, too. I call it the CoolGun 2000. It's the latest model. It has a nuclear battery, too, but like the other one, it doesn't blow up. Shame. Maybe I'll incorporate that into the CoolGun 3000." Holly gingerly picked up the CoolGun. It was silver with hand-painted lightning bolts and racing stripes. Foaly had done it himself. Decorating weapons to his tastes was one of the few things he did for his job that he didn't actually have to do. Meanwhile, Holly's fear had evaporated and been replaced by disgust.

"Foaly, do you have another gun like this?" Holly said, wrinkling her nose, "This one doesn't match my outfit."

"But Holly," Foaly protested, "This one is really cool. It has lightning bolts and everything."

Holly was not impressed, "Well, it doesn't match my outfit. I can't be seen with it in public. Besides, I might break a nail."

"But it's really long-lasting. And you can play Pac-Man on it."

"Can I use it to shop for a better outfit?"

"Well, it does have a credit card feature." Holly thought for a moment.

"Alright, Foaly-Moley, I'll take it."

Foaly led Holly over to a pod held together by duct tape. It looked a bit unsafe to me, but it did have hand painted lightning bolts. And the duct tape had tiny bombs on it. There was a grayish stain on the seat, unfortunately. That kind of out-balanced the lightning bolts and bombs.

Holly noticed the stain, too.

"What exactly is that stain, Foaly-poo?"

"Brain fluid! Isn't it awesome?"

"Real brain fluid, Foaly-Wooly?" Holly began to frown and immediately stopped herself in the pursuit of that elusive wrinkle-free tomorrow.

"Yeah! It's great, isn't it? I mean, there was this awesome pressure leak and I got to use my flashing red lights that say RED ALERT. The DUMB officer is better now, except he can't walk, talk, or ingest solids."

"Can he put on make-up? Can he shop for awesome outfits? Can he accessorize?" Foaly shrugged.

"Don't know. I didn't ask. I assume so, cause they didn't tell me otherwise." Holly's eyebrows knit together. She seemed awfully concerned.

"Foaly-poo, life without make-up and shopping means nothing to me. I refuse to go. I won't risk it."

"I'll get you a spa trip if you go." Holly thought for a second.

"OK."

* * *

I was squeezed in with a bunch of wires in the back of an old pod, waiting while Holly reapplied her make-up. Despite being a handsome, brave, muscular, intelligent, friendly, dashing, and generally awesome police officer, I was scared. Wait, no, I meant to think that this pod made me slightly concerned for my safety. I mean, Holly's safety. Yes, that's all it is. I'm just afraid for Holly.

Foaly's reassurances didn't much help.

"Holly, you'll go out into the chute and a magma surge will push you up. You know the drill. Oh, and I'd put that piece of rubber in the little compartment in your mouth so you don't bite your tongue off."

Oh no, I didn't have anything. I looked around, panicking.

"We're nearing the chute. Holly, is the rubber thing in your mouth?" Holly spat out the piece of rubber so she could assure Foaly that the rubber thing was in fact in her mouth.

"Yes, Foaly-Moley."

"Good." I shoved a wire in my mouth. It'll have to do. Meanwhile, Foaly had continued his "reassurances".

"So you have, like, a 99.8% chance of dying. I mean, you have a 99.8% of living. Wait, that's from last year. Lemme find this year's..." We were now hanging over the edge, waiting to enter the chute. Foaly, oblivious to our position, was sifting through the records.

"Well, in 1284, your chances of survival were like 0.0000000000001%," Foaly mused. A few minutes passed. I looked over the edge, hoping we wouldn't miss our flare.

"You know, I'll put you at 50/50, so I can get back to my game." The magna flare was here, but Foaly was enthralled in his video game.

"Uh, Foaly-poo, aren't you supposed to press the big red button?" Holly said, nervously.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Nothing happened.

"Foaly-Wooly-Mooly-Dully," Holly began.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I accidentally hit the 'Quit' button. 100 hours of work on this stupid game deleted." Sobbing, Foaly slammed the right button. We were off.

* * *

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HELP ME! I DON'T WANT TO END UP AS BRAIN FLUID FOR FOALY TO GOSSIP ABOUT NONCHALANTLY OR A STATISTIC FOR HIM TO BUTCHER!" Holly and I screamed in unison. The pod spun around crazily. I clung to Holly for dear life. Then my head slammed against the wall of the pod. In my confusion, I let go of Hollyand centrifugal forcehurled me against the side of the pod again, but harder. The world went dark. My last thought was: This is going to drive the survival rate down and further confuse Foaly! Serves him right for putting me through this.

**I have the beginning of the second half of this chapter written and hope to get it out by the end of the week.**


	5. Chapter 4, Part Two

**I don't own Artemis Fowl. Just a reminder, this is based on the second half of the 3rd chapter in the first Artemis Fowl book.  
**

We climbed out of the pod once we had left the chute. I had been calm and collected the whole time in the chutes, of course. Duh! When am I ever anything else? Actually, I don't quite remember what happened, for some odd reason, but I'm _sure_ I was my normal heroic self.

Holly was redoing her hair and makeup, of course. She had become rather disheveled during the course of our journey and was making amends. She tossed her CoolGun 2000 back into the pod, knowing that she would never use it for fear of breaking a nail. She kicked the back-up helmet twice for good luck, poofed her hair, and went on her way. I waited in the shelter of the fairy fort, apparently called Cool Awesome Bunker Place, according to a handwritten sign hanging from the wall. The sign was decorated with hand painted lightning bolts and bomb duct tape, so through my amazingly complex analysis and surprisingly accurate spidey sense (whenever the hairs on the back of my neck stick up, I know there's trouble. Either that or I've accidentally scratched a painted wall. I HATE that noise.), I was able to determine that Foaly had created the sign. Using these same skills (which for some reason have led me to arrest the mayor, Chief, a cocker spaniel [what was it doing scratching the wall anyway? Huh?], a five-month old baby and myself), I was able to predict that Holly would soon be back in the Cool Awesome Bunker Place. Well, that and the fact that she forgot her CoolGun 2000/credit card.

A moment later, Holly skipped in. Ah, my deductive skills (not to be confused with my famed Detective Skillet™. It consists of eggs, potatoes [without the _eyes_ cut off], cheese [because it tastes good and is not as bad for you as you might think] and vegetables [to combat the health-destroying effects of the cheese]. Chief loves my Detective Skillet™, which I make myself. He force-feeds it to the nastiest criminals we come up against. They always confess within five minutes on the condition that they don't have to eat the dish anymore. I'm always glad to help.) astonish even myself sometimes. Why Chief hasn't promoted me yet is beyond me. Maybe that's why.

Meanwhile, Holly was eying a nearby set of wings. They too were covered in lightning bolts and duct tape.

"Ewwww...these look horrible with my outfit," she said, holding the wings at arms length. She strapped the wings on, wincing as they wrinkled her clothes.

She stepped outside and attempted to start the wings up. It worked on the third try-that is to say, Holly shot up into the air, out of control.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" Holly screamed, as the engine petered out 30 feet up in the air.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, nervous as to where Holly would land. Holly somersaulted through the air, crashing head first into a very unattractive tree, and hitting every branch on the way down. When she landed she had leaves and twigs poking out of her hairs. Her bedazzled uniform now seemed more bedraggled than anything else.

"Oh, no!" Holly cried, after she had assessed the damage, "I look horrible. My hair is all messed up, and my uniform is no longer bedazzled." She began to sob, causing her mascara to run in _streaks_ down her _cheek_. Hey, I rhymed! I'm a poet! I turned my valuable attention away from the sobbing Holly, instead focusing on my new found status as a poet. Yes! Now I can use poetic license! I can wax poetic! Best of all, I can deal poetic justice! I now declare myself Inspector, first class. Oh, I must write a poem in celebration!

_I became an inspector, first class, so I'm happy_

_I commemorate this occasion by being snappy _

_This snappiness, mind you, only lasts one day_

_'Cause being snappy is exhausting and doesn't really pay_

_I wish it did, I really do_

_But unfortunately I can't change what is true_

But,_ wait, I can!_

I_ almost forgot, good fans!_

_I can use my poetic license_

_Oh, how I love it, more than a cupcake with extra icing._

_Except if that cupcake is orange_

_Then poetic license takes a- _

What rhymes with 'orange'? Courage, maybe? No...

Don't worry, fans of my poetry. I'll leave it unfinished, as many of the best works are. Why, this leaving a poem unfinished is so poetic, that I think I'll write a poem about it. How about:

_Oh, all the best poems are not done_

_It makes them very fun_

_Almost as fun as a cupcake that's orange  
_

Dang! You know, I think I'll come back to my poetry later. Back to Holly.

Holly was still sobbing under the tree. She was frowning uncontrollably as well, but I suppose that she gave up on the whole avoid-wrinkle thing. Good thinking! It was way too good to be true, and without facelifts to pay for later in life, how ever will Holly ever spend her government pension, on the off-chance she stays around the DUMB long enough to qualify for one.

After another few minutes, Holly had composed herself enough that she could shuffle back into the Cool Awesome Bunker Place to retrieve her CoolGun. Still sniffling, she began walking towards a nearby town. I hurried along after her.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I wished I hadn't. As soon as we entered the city limits, Holly made a beeline for the shops. I eyed a nearby restaurant; I was rather hungry. Just then the troll we were supposed to be following rammed into the restaurant. Oh, well. I guess I can wait a little long. Resigned, I followed Holly into yet another shop. Pedestrians seemed rather surprised to see Holly, a diminutive, yet fashion obsessed figure. Okay, seeing as they were all fashion-obsessed and a fair amount of them were diminutive, the shock was probably more a result of the CoolGun credit card and pointed ears than anything else. Some were rubbing their eyes, others were simply staring.

Holly apparently misinterpreted their staring.

"How dare you stare at me like that?" she shrieked, "I only look like this because some top-secret technology designed by an idiot of a centaur malfunctioned!" Uh, bad move, Holly. If anyone hadn't been staring at her before, they certainly were now.

"Centaur?" said one man, inserting a finger in his ear and twisting to remove any earwax. Ugh, so unsanitary. I gingerly handed him a Q-tip, making sure our hands never touched. He smiled, puzzled, and then began to pick his nose absentmindedly. I averted my eyes and handed him a tissue. He took it and shrugged, and began to suck on his thumb. I tossed him a pacifier.

I noticed just then that all the other townspeople were giving this man a wide berth. I decided to follow their example.

"Yes, a centaur. Duh! He's a fairy, like me! He lives underground and plays Mario Kart." By this point the crowd began edging back over towards the man who was still staring, puzzled, and the pacifier, tissue, and Q-tip. Oddly enough, this only made Holly more furious.

"You're all just stupid, unfashionable meanies!" Holly exploded. Furious, she used the worst weapon in her arsenal. I covered my ears, knowing what was coming.

_If you're listening to this song, you probably consider yourself a rebel, listening to uncool music_

_But guess what, this will probably be a top ten hit because of you mindless consumers_

_No matter what, I won't get a bonus_

_So I don't care how well this song does_

Holly eventually ran out of breath, and so stopped singing. All in earshot, except for me, of course, were out cold. Holly dusted herself off to continue her shopping. As she turned to a hair saloon, she came face to face with a frowning Beetroot.

"Oh, hi, Rootsie," Holly said, cheerily, totally oblivious to both her surroundings and Beetroot's priceless expression.

"Captain Short," barked Beetroot, "I told you not to call me that. And what on Earth do you think you're doing?

"Oh, I'm shopping. Look what I got," said Holly, holding out a new dress. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"First of all, yes, it is very nice-" the commander admitted.

"I knew you'd love it," said Holly, twirling.

"Don't interr-"

"Sorry, Beety, but can we leave on that note and go home?"

"NO!" Beetroot exploded, "Short, listen to me! Why are you shopping while on a mission? Less than 100 yards away from you, a troll is wreaking havoc, and you are SHOPPING! EXPLAIN!" Holly's smile disappeared as she struggled to come up with an acceptable explanation.

"Uh, well, there was a sale today on sundresses and I thought-"

"NOT ACCEPTABLE!"

"Uh, a local asked for fashion advice?"

"NOT ACCEPTABLE!"

"A whale beached itself and I had-"

"WE ARE THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY FROM THE OCEAN!"

"Yeah, that's why it took me so long!"

"NOT ACCEPTABLE, SHORT!"

"Fine, I'll tell you the truth. Foaly's wings malfunctioned and I fell through this hideous tree and hit every branch on the way down. My clothes were all ripped and I went from bedazzled to bedraggled! CAN YOU IMAGINE THE HORROR? Anyway, I had to get back to bedazzled so I went shopping here!"

Beetroot sighed, "Short, did it ever occur to you to USE MAGIC!"

Holly's face broke into a smile, "Great idea, Rootsie-Tootsie. See what happens when you stop your caps abuse and put on your thinking cap instead. I'll fix myself up right now." Holly's face took on an expression of great concentration.

"Bibbity, bobbity, boo, make me as good as new!" Holly immediately turned into an infant.

Beetroot sighed again, "Short, short, short, what's the first thing I ever taught you?"

"Accewizing is an impewative?" guessed Baby Holly.

"NO! I've never said anything even remotely similar!"

"Oh, I knwow you never outwightwy shaid dat! It just what I fwought when I fwirst met woo."

"Thanks," grumbled Beetroot, "No, the rule is to always word your spells carefully."

"Oh, dat."

Beetroot sighed yet again, "Fix yourself, Howwy, I mean, Holly." Beetroot shuddered. Her wisp, I mean, lisp was starting to wub, no, rub off on him.

"Okway, abwa cadabwa awwa cazzam, turn me bwack to who I weally am." Nothing happened.

"Woops, I gwuess I'm outta magic."

"SHORT! You told me you were running hot!"

"I'm aways hot!"

Beetroot sighed one last time, "You know what I mean! You told me you had pwenty, excuse me, plenty of magic. WHY DID YOU TWY TO TWICK ME? Sorry, try to trick me."

"You wouldn't have hiwad me if I told woo I was wow on magic! I nweeded money!

Beetwoot, sorry, Beetroot, facepalmed, as he had exceeded his quota of sighs. Oh, alright, I forced him to facepalm. But it was for woo! I mean, you. Okay, I also did for the pleasure of saying 'why are you hitting yourself?'. But it was mostly for woo. ARGH! Gosh, I can't wait till Holly loses her lisp.

Beetroot facepalmed again, with my selfless help, "Chirp, chirp, chirp, buzz, buzz, buzz, turn her back the way she was!" Thankfully, it worked. A normal Holly stood up, dusted herself off and saluted.

Beetroot rolled his eyes, "Just go and do the Ritual!"

**I'm at the Big 10,000. This is a personal record for me, so I'm very excited. Thank you, everybody, for sticking with me all this time.  
**

**I love writing bad poetry. I hope you all enjoyed it.**

**Please review.  
**


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